


The Red Dragon

by Cuits



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuits/pseuds/Cuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad case, the team goes out for a drink. A night, five points of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red Dress (Kimball Cho)

**Author's Note:**

> This should take place sometime around the second season

The bar is far too crowded for a Wednesday night. There's people and laughter all around them, there are half a million different noises and too many couples dancing on the far away corner where there are no tables.

The bar is far too much of a happy place for what it should be after the case they had.

Orphan children, a net of pedophiles and no happy endings. Not even mid fair endings since the net had been orchestrated by a member of the diplomatic corp. of Wherever. All those poor innocent children, and nobody to pay in jail for his sins.

Kimball Cho sighs and sips of his bottle of beer slowly getting drunk. That's the plan they have established for this kind of messes, getting drunk till the world doesn't feels like such a bad place anymore, hell, till nothing feels bad anymore aside from the alcohol burning their empty stomachs, then head home and pass out.

It doesn't thrill his girlfriend but it's not a bad plan.

Rigsby nurses his scotch while talking softly and without much passion with Van Pelt about the good old times for the fire department. She looks interested, though, what he can't decide is if she looks interested in the topic or in Rigsby himself. Maybe a mix of both. Her cheeks are a little redder than usual, her eyes are brighter and her third glass of whatever she is taking, not much emptier than the rest.

God bless her. He just brings the beer to his lips again and tries to will the booze into kicking in.

It's been a couple of minutes since The Boss has gotten up and disappeared into the noisy crowd and now Cho can get glimpses of her at the bar looking miserable and tired, thinner than usual. He doesn't need to be Jane to know that she hasn't slept in ages and that she has taken the case pretty bad.

Pretty, pretty bad.

"She is not going to come back."

He says it to nobody but is Jane who answers.

"No"

Even Patrick Jane seems off tonight. He isn't smiling, his vest is unbuttoned and his eyes look older even than the ancient way they do on a normal day.

Cho nods and ends his fourth bottle of beer just in time to start feeling the warmth in the tips of his ears that indicates he's starting to get drunk.

Good.

"Maybe she is not well," he says out of the blue, "The boss, she doesn't look well."

Jane smiles slightly and raises his own bottle of beer. "None of us do, Cho" and takes a gulp.

He is probably right, he is right almost all the time, it´s not something that bothers him. Cho's never been that kind of guy, the one that needs to compete with other guys and be better. No, he likes his job – well, at least most of the time- he likes to do it the best that he can and he is pretty good at it, if Jane can come and enter his interrogation room and help them fill in the blanks, that's more than fine with him.

Van Pelt asks him a question sounding perky and funny and more than a little tipsy and Jane looks over the table with the beginnings of a smile in his eyes that never quite reach the rest of his face. Cho feels himself lose interest even before he can answer.

He drinks and finishes his own bottle while watching the people around them. He likes to do so, to observe people; he obviously can't read them as Jane does but still he likes to watch them talk and move and just be.

There's something mesmerizing about the subtle ways in which people reveal their true selves when they think nobody is looking, and he knows it might sound weird and maybe even a little creepy, but the truth is that looking at all those people in their working suits, trying to let their problems behind in order to have a connection with other human beings, comforts him at a fundamental level. Just people, everywhere, human and alive, all searching for the same thing and not the monsters at disguise that they find more oftern than not at work.

Jane gets up then and leaves too following Lisbon steps and for several minutes no one says anything aside asking the waitress for another of the same. The noise around them sounds distant and their faces start to sport goofy grins from time to time.

First phase of the plan accomplished. They're drunk.

"He is not going to come back," says Rigsby looking at the spot where Jane has disappeared into the crowd.

"No" confirms Cho.

He gets more comfortable in his own seat and plays with the label of his empty bottle waiting for the next one to arrive.

"Do you think there's something going on between those two?" Van Pelt's smile is wide and contagious and she has an air of conspiracy when she speaks that makes her look way too young for their line of work.

Rigsby lowers his head too, joining the conspiracy game team with wide open eyes, "Jane and the boss?"

Cho shakes his head, not as much to the idea of the Boss and Jane -which by the way, is not something he's given much thought to- but to the direction the conversation is taking, so when the waitress arrives with his sixth and last beer, he just takes one long gulp and goes back to staring people, ignoring altogether the other two talk.

He relaxes, and drinks and stares for some time till something catches his attention; a woman with long dark hair and a red dress -not too tight and not too revealing but inspirational enough- looking for a familiar face among the human sea. She is nothing like his girlfriend but the woman's red dress reminds him of her at their second date and he smiles.

It's getting late and he is getting too drunk, and unlike others he is lucky enough to have a warm home to go back to, even if his girlfriend would give him hell for getting home wasted.

He stand up and look into his pockets for some cash to pay for his beers, and leaves two bills of twenty dollars trapped under his half empty bottle.

"I'm heading home guys."

He doesn't wait for an answer. It's his time to go.


	2. The Red Vodka (Grace Van Pelt)

It's been a bad case, the worst of her short career and the only thing that keeps her from hugging herself and crying for what it'd probably be a long, long time is the fact that her boss and the rest of the team are with her. Well, and that she's pretty tipsy on the way of getting completely drunk.

"Did you like to play with fire?"

She is flirting, in a very blatant way that would probably be embarrassing if it weren't because Wayne is not very sober himself and nobody else is really paying attention to them.

"I still like to play with fire; I just don't work with it anymore."

Rigsby isn't really into the conversation but Grace smiles anyway and drinks from his glass forgetting all around them till their boss gets up and leaves.

She finishes her vodka with cranberry juice and looks around for a waiter to ask for another one without much luck. Maybe it's for the best, because getting drunk and flirting with a coworker who -she knows- likes her, is probably not one of her brightest ideas.

Even more so since she likes Wayne back too.

So she tries to focus, she really does but the dimness of the bar coupled with the way one of the lights from the dance floor hits her right in the eyes every once in a while are really no help and Jane and Cho are just too quiet to grab her interest except, well, Jane is Jane and he is always interesting with all his mysterious talents and games.

She sighs loudly - or as loudly as you can sigh in a noisy bar - and thinks about how her life would be if she could read minds too, how would it be to know what people is thinking of you, or of anyone for that matter. To know their fears and their hopes, when they are lying to you even if it's for your own good or when they are trying to surprise you.

Grace decides that it's not something that she would like that much and not for the first time she finds herself wondering about Jane's marriage; she wonders if his wife knew the truth and she agreed to tag along or if she was just fooled like the rest of the world. Did he ever use manipulating tricks to seduce her? Did he ever toy with her mind to get out of an argument? She just doesn't seem to be able to stop at one question. He knows he is a good person she is just not sure what kind of person he might have been before.

Rigsby's hand brushes her naked arm as he reaches for his drink and she feels suddenly too warm inside. Her cheeks must be as red as her drink, which is too good and not good at all all at once and she shakes her head lightly and tries to distract herself once again.

"Can you turn it off?" Her voice sounds estranged even to her own ears and she doesn't feel brave enough to look at Wayne so she tries again with a little more confidence "Do you… Do you ever turn it off?"

Jane looks at her over the table, showing the beginnings of a smile that doesn't quite reach his face. His eyes are sad and sweet and maybe a little patronizing but she doesn't really care because she can feel Wayne getting closer, can even feel the heat his body irradiates at her left side. She can feel the excitement starting to build up inside her and the need for a distraction; Patrick Jane's eyes are not a bad place to fix her drunken attention.

Not a bad place at all.

"I guess I don't," says Jane with a small voice that it's heard above all the rest.

"But, can you do it? Turn it off, I mean," her tongue betrays her, twisting in the simplest words.

"Not exactly," he looks at her in the eye with that non-committal expression that makes her irremediably smile- "it's like noticing the colors. You can't help noticing that chair is green but you can avoid asking yourself if it's more of an emerald green than a mint green or another kind of green altogether."

"That chair is green?" Wayne asks with surprise, "I would have sworn it's blue."

She giggles and Jane smiles just a bit "It's green. Turquoise green" and drinks what's left of his beer. "I'm going to go get another one."

Before she can do anything about it the object of her distraction is up and gone and she is back to Cho minding his own business and Wayne at her side, being nice and warm and real after the worst week of her life.

For several minutes no one says anything more aside from Cho and Rigsby asking the waitress for a refill.

"He is not going to come back," says Rigsby.

"No," confirms Cho.

Grace looks at the distant counter that looks fuzzy and very far away and thinks that she can spot Jane and the Boss when people don't get in the way. They seem as close and comfortable as an long time couple, although, of course, could be the alcohol making her see things that are not really there; that possibility doesn't prevent her from lowering her head as if going to tell a secret and speak.

"Do you think there's something between those two?" She can barely hold back a wide smile at the prospect.

Cho shakes his head and sighs loudly as if the mere idea was nothing but ridiculous and Rigsby puts on a surprised expression while lowering his voice tone, "Jane and the boss?"

"Sure. He's nice to her."

"Jane is nice to everybody!" says Wayne with disbelief.

Grace takes a moment to think about it. Rigsby does have a point.


	3. The Red Pattern (Teresa Lisbon)

"I'm going for another round,"

She gets up and manoeuvres in between the people that crowd the place in order to get to the counter.

She has no intention to come back to the table. She knows them, knows the routine after a bad case: get drunk, get numb, get over it. Only this time the case was a little worse than bad for her, a little too close to home for their simple routine to work; she'd only manage to feel more bitter, more sad and would probably end up crying embarrassingly over someone's shoulder so she sets herself at the bar and asks the waiter for a soft drink and to send someone over to her team's table.

Teresa Lisbon knows how to be alone at bad times; she has known everything about it since she was a child.

The waiter gives her the glass of soda with half a smile and she seats on the first free stool she finds and tries not to think about all those poor children from those already devastated homes, abused till there was no innocence left in their eyes.

She feels a fleeting touch on her shoulder, as if someone was trying to use her as leverage to get into the space between her stool and the one to her right.

"Another beer, sir?"

"I think I've had enough alcohol for today, thank you. I'll have a soda, like her."

Lisbon breaths deeply before turning her head.

"I'm having a gin tonic."

At her side, Jane rest his right arm at the bar and smiles that trademark Jane's smile.

"No, you're not."

She doesn't smile in return, just takes her glass and drinks from it. She likes to do it from time to time, lie to Patrick Jane just to know that she still has that option, she often asks herself if she really gets to fool him sometimes or if he just doesn't say anything to stroke her ego, give her the illusion that she could get things past him.

He doesn't say anything else. For several minutes he just stays at her side while she doesn't look farther than the bottom of her glass, too close to be subtle, staring at her with his blue eyes and his calm expression, all quiet, warm and soothing.

She sighs and the muscles at her back relax a little.

"What"

"I didn't say anything."

"I know," she finally gives up and turns her stool enough to partially face him "Let me guess, Van Pelt and Rigsby are flirting less subtly than usual and Cho isn't drunk enough yet to overcome his fear of arriving home half drunk."

The waiter chooses that moment to deliver his drink and he thanks him with a casual gesture while he starts to talk, "Van Pelt and Rigsby are flirting shamelessly and Cho will remember that home is far a better place to be than this dive any second now, probably after spotting that woman over there with that red dress."

She arches her eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"I'm not in a talking mood."

"That's why I wasn't talking."

His vest is unbuttoned and his hair's kind of messy and she just nods and stares back at him for a couple of seconds before going back to her staring contest with the bottom of her glass.

They don't talk for a while, they just stay as they are, not getting drunk but somehow getting over it all.

It takes its toll on her sometimes, how effortlessly he can calm her down, how soothing and comfortable his presence has become, how he always manages to give her a little of the much needed peace of mind. It annoys her cause she knows that someday she will have to aim a gun at him and probably, shoot.

"Aren't you going to say it?"

He looks into her eyes "What?"

"That it wasn't my fault, that I did everything that I could and that I have no reason to feel guilty," she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand "You know, the standard bullshit."

"You already know the standard bullshit," his voice is low and reassuring "You don't need me to say anything like that."

She smiles a sad sardonic smile without looking up, "Oh yeah? And what do I need?"

Is intended to sound bitter and angry and she could swear it was a success but Jane's bright smile widens and all his expression softens. He leaves his drink at the bar and very slowly picks her hands in between his, strong and tender at the same time, in the same fashion she has seen him doing with hundreds of victims before, he looks at her in the eye and just murmurs, "Come here" then he takes a step and embraces her.

She doesn't remember the last time someone did that for her, doesn't remember the last time it wasn't her team who would make her feel less lonely but she knows she is completely fucked up because she is hugging him back now and breathing deeply and trying but not quite succeeding at holding back a sob.

He never invites anyone to enter his house; he is tormented by his absent family and consumed by the aim of a revenge that is just fair to him. He doesn't believe that there is anything better waiting for him and hides all that behind a sweet placating smile, fooling almost everyone.

She knows all that and still she is crying over the thin red pattern of his shirt at his shoulder and letting him comfort her.

Makes her wonder who the crazier one is.

Makes her wonder if it really matters.

Jane gets up and leaves the table and Wayne Rigsby follows him with his eyes until his figure dissapears among the crowd and sighs with relief.

It doesn't take a genius to know that Jane will say and do whatever the boss needs him to, so he drinks from his glass and gets back to the conversation on the table, finally being able to pay proper attention to Van Pelt.

"Do you think there's something between those two?" she smiles widely and Rigsby doesn't really know what to do with it.

"Jane and the boss?"

Van Pelt smiles with a mischievous grin "Sure. He's nice to her."

"Jane is nice to everybody!"

He can't even believe he's having this conversation at all; it makes him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Grace doesn't answer immediately and he thinks that maybe she gets it too, that you don't talk about the boss' sentimental life, that it's like talking about the sexual life of your parents, just not done.

"Yes, well, she is nice to him," she points a finger at him and he rolls his eyes, defeated, "and don't say she is nice to everybody too, because that's just not true."

"She's nice to him because he helps us solve cases," Rigsby takes a long swallow of his drink before speaking again suspecting he is far too sober for this. "Besides… it's Jane!"

Somewhere between "weird" and "mysterious" Grace says "attractive" and Wayne confirms that he is way too lost and way too sober for wherever this conversation is going.

He observes Van Pelt's features, tries to know if maybe she is just pulling his leg. He stares at her while Cho leaves and she says goodbye, till the blue of her eyes and the red glossy texture of her lips is all he can see and he doesn't know anything for sure anymore.

"Patrick Jane is attractive?" his voice sounds embarrassingly strangled.

"Tall, blonde, blue eyes, well built… yes, I would say he is attractive"

Wayne doesn't get it. Not by a long shot.

He doesn't understand why any normal woman who knows him would think Patrick Jane is attractive instead of plainly weird or even a little bit creepy. The man wears vests for god sake! This, at the very least, should illustrate his point of view fairly well. "But he wears vests!" she just looks at him with that little drunk smile and he feels the need to lower his voice as if talking to himself to wonder "who the hell wears vests?"

She keeps smiling at him, calm and sweet, and he can't help noticing the uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach so he takes another sip from his drink.

"I really can't believe you're telling me that you find Jane attractive." He can but he won't, he doesn't want to. He sounds needy and silly but he doesn't seem to care; she leans forward a little and Rigsby can smell this sweet mix of perfume, alcohol and her and he doesn't care for anything else.

"I didn't say that," she lowers her voice and he finds it difficult to swallow, "I said he was attractive." She wets her lips with her tongue and he also finds it difficult to breathe. "Objectively speaking."

He smiles.

"Besides we aren't talking about me. We're talking about the boss."

"I see." But he doesn't, not really.

"Jane is an attractive guy and she is nice to him and since he is just a consultant they wouldn't break any Bureau rule."

And then it hits him. Rules. Breaking rules. He may not be a fucking weird genius or wear vests but he can put two and two together. "Oh, I see," and puts his arm on the back of her chair. "Rules."

Grace Van Pelt, the youngest newest agent of the team who wouldn't dream of doing anything that could jeopardise her short career, of breaking any bureau rule, even if it's a little stupid rule as, let's say, being involved with a co-worker, as in kissing a fellow agent.

So he gets nearer, so near that he is sure she has to feel his quick heartbeats. If she can't find her way to break the rules that's fine, he will find it for her.

"What are you doing?" She whispers and her breath caresses the skin of his face.

He doesn't answer, not immediately. He stares at her eyes and at her lips. And his fingers find her hair and start stroking her red locks.

"Nothing," he says then, "just a little of what Jane does second best" he leans into her slowly, taking pleasure in every second that passes and every inch that gets them closer, "breaking the rules a little."

He gives her a chaste kiss at first. Just his lips on hers just the feeling of being this near and then, it's just not enough. He wants to run his tongue over her lips, to bite them lightly and suck on them till they are swollen and redder, till she's breathless and flustered.

So he does. He does it and she kisses him back, she runs her tongue along his and entangles her delicate fingers in his hair and his heart skips a beat when he feels rather than hears a little moan.

It takes more strength than he knew he had to part form her, part form this, but after two failed attempts he finally does.

She looks at him like she doesn't understand, bright and gorgeous and he can't breathe, he literally can't breathe.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" he says quickly, "nothing is wrong," except that she is more than a little drunk and maybe he is too, and they had an horrible week, and they are at this suddenly not so appropriate place and he wants to be with her more than anything, but not like this.

He can't afford her regretting it in the morning. He couldn't stand it so he gets up and tents his hand.

"Let's take a walk"

If she's going to risk breaking the rules with him he wants her to be sober and convinced; and he can be a very patience man.

She looks at him for some dramatic long seconds before smiling and taking his hand.

It's not all that he wants. But for now it's enough.


	4. The Red Haired Girl (Wayne Rigsby)

Jane gets up and leaves the table and Wayne Rigsby follows him with his eyes until his figure dissapears among the crowd and sighs with relief.

It doesn't take a genius to know that Jane will say and do whatever the boss needs him to, so he drinks from his glass and gets back to the conversation on the table, finally being able to pay proper attention to Van Pelt.

"Do you think there's something between those two?" she smiles widely and Rigsby doesn't really know what to do with it.

"Jane and the boss?"

Van Pelt smiles with a mischievous grin "Sure. He's nice to her."

"Jane is nice to everybody!"

He can't even believe he's having this conversation at all; it makes him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Grace doesn't answer immediately and he thinks that maybe she gets it too, that you don't talk about the boss' sentimental life, that it's like talking about the sexual life of your parents, just not done.

"Yes, well, she is nice to him," she points a finger at him and he rolls his eyes, defeated, "and don't say she is nice to everybody too, because that's just not true."

"She's nice to him because he helps us solve cases," Rigsby takes a long swallow of his drink before speaking again suspecting he is far too sober for this. "Besides… it's Jane!"

Somewhere between "weird" and "mysterious" Grace says "attractive" and Wayne confirms that he is way too lost and way too sober for wherever this conversation is going.

He observes Van Pelt's features, tries to know if maybe she is just pulling his leg. He stares at her while Cho leaves and she says goodbye, till the blue of her eyes and the red glossy texture of her lips is all he can see and he doesn't know anything for sure anymore.

"Patrick Jane is attractive?" his voice sounds embarrassingly strangled.

"Tall, blonde, blue eyes, well built… yes, I would say he is attractive"

Wayne doesn't get it. Not by a long shot.

He doesn't understand why any normal woman who knows him would think Patrick Jane is attractive instead of plainly weird or even a little bit creepy. The man wears vests for god sake! This, at the very least, should illustrate his point of view fairly well. "But he wears vests!" she just looks at him with that little drunk smile and he feels the need to lower his voice as if talking to himself to wonder "who the hell wears vests?"

She keeps smiling at him, calm and sweet, and he can't help noticing the uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach so he takes another sip from his drink.

"I really can't believe you're telling me that you find Jane attractive." He can but he won't, he doesn't want to. He sounds needy and silly but he doesn't seem to care; she leans forward a little and Rigsby can smell this sweet mix of perfume, alcohol and her and he doesn't care for anything else.

"I didn't say that," she lowers her voice and he finds it difficult to swallow, "I said he was attractive." She wets her lips with her tongue and he also finds it difficult to breathe. "Objectively speaking."

He smiles.

"Besides we aren't talking about me. We're talking about the boss."

"I see." But he doesn't, not really.

"Jane is an attractive guy and she is nice to him and since he is just a consultant they wouldn't break any Bureau rule."

And then it hits him. Rules. Breaking rules. He may not be a fucking weird genius or wear vests but he can put two and two together. "Oh, I see," and puts his arm on the back of her chair. "Rules."

Grace Van Pelt, the youngest newest agent of the team who wouldn't dream of doing anything that could jeopardise her short career, of breaking any bureau rule, even if it's a little stupid rule as, let's say, being involved with a co-worker, as in kissing a fellow agent.

So he gets nearer, so near that he is sure she has to feel his quick heartbeats. If she can't find her way to break the rules that's fine, he will find it for her.

"What are you doing?" She whispers and her breath caresses the skin of his face.

He doesn't answer, not immediately. He stares at her eyes and at her lips. And his fingers find her hair and start stroking her red locks.

"Nothing," he says then, "just a little of what Jane does second best" he leans into her slowly, taking pleasure in every second that passes and every inch that gets them closer, "breaking the rules a little."

He gives her a chaste kiss at first. Just his lips on hers just the feeling of being this near and then, it's just not enough. He wants to run his tongue over her lips, to bite them lightly and suck on them till they are swollen and redder, till she's breathless and flustered.

So he does. He does it and she kisses him back, she runs her tongue along his and entangles her delicate fingers in his hair and his heart skips a beat when he feels rather than hears a little moan.

It takes more strength than he knew he had to part form her, part form this, but after two failed attempts he finally does.

She looks at him like she doesn't understand, bright and gorgeous and he can't breathe, he literally can't breathe.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" he says quickly, "nothing is wrong," except that she is more than a little drunk and maybe he is too, and they had an horrible week, and they are at this suddenly not so appropriate place and he wants to be with her more than anything, but not like this.

He can't afford her regretting it in the morning. He couldn't stand it so he gets up and tents his hand.

"Let's take a walk"

If she's going to risk breaking the rules with him he wants her to be sober and convinced; and he can be a very patience man.

She looks at him for some dramatic long seconds before smiling and taking his hand.

It's not all that he wants. But for now it's enough.


	5. The Red and the Black (Patrick Jane)

"I'm going for another round" he sees it coming for some time before she actually says the words and leaves.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the case has left her heartbroken nor takes a very observant person to see the black swollen circles under her eyes and how her clothes are suddenly a little too big for her.

"She is not going to come back."

Cho doesn't look for an answer but he offers one anyway.

"No."

Everyone seems off tonight. He is too tired for unjustified smiles, too exhausted to pretend that everything is fine so he drinks from his own beer and doesn't comment on Van Pelt and Rigsby's flirting or Cho's post-bad case ritual where he avoids going back home for as long as he can if he drinks.

"Maybe she is not well," says Cho and clarifies as if it wasn't obvious who he's talking about, "The boss, she doesn't look well."

Jane smiles slightly and raises his own bottle of beer, "None of us do, Cho," and takes another gulp.

Cho just nods and goes back to his own business and Patrick calculates the appropriate time before getting up and join Lisbon at the bar, too soon would only get her upset, too late would be… well, too late.

"Can you turn it off?" the sudden question comes out funny from a semi-drunk Grace. "Do you… Do you ever turn it off?"

He looks at the table and sighs discretely. He knows she is fascinated by fake powers and a life left behind for causes she doesn't know or worry about too much.

"I guess I don't." He remembers a time when he used to put some effort in turning it off, a time when it was important to leave some secrets out and keep little mysteries in to play around with. He doesn't do it anymore.

"But, can you do it? Turn it off, I mean."

The young agent interest is usually entertaining; it gets entangled with her strong faith in a controlling, know-it-all superior being and most of the time Patrick likes to read her confusion, the struggle within when the things she wants to believe in and the direction the facts lead don't match, but time is counting and he really doesn't have the time or is in the mood to play along now.

"Not exactly," he looks at her in the eye as if to convince her that this is exactly the answer she was waiting for, "it's like noticing the colors. You can't help noticing that chair is green but you can avoid asking yourself if it's more of an emerald green than a mint green or another kind of green altogether."

"That chair is green?" asks Rigsby with some doubt, "I would have sworn it's blue."

Jane smiles just a little, "It's green. Turquoise green" and swallows what's left of his beer. The time it's right, so he adds, "I'm going to go get another one," and gets up and leaves the table.

He wades through tables and people spotting Lisbon without effort. She has this aura, sadness around her written all over her body language. The way the muscles of her back tense under her thin shirt, how she leans her arms over the bar, her dark hair falling over her eyes.

Patrick excuses himself to a young man getting in his way and reaches the spot in the counter between Teresas' stool and the one to her right.

"Another beer, sir?"

It's not the first time they've come to this place, 'The Red Dragon', they had been there enough times for the waiter to recognize them but not enough to be on a first name basis.

"I think I've had enough alcohol for today, thank you. I'll have a soda, like her."

Lisbon breaths deeply before turning her head.

"I'm having a gin tonic."

Her eyes are hard and she looks directly at his eyes with confidence but he knows that trick too well. Jane rests his right arm at the counter and smiles softly.

"No, you're not."

She doesn't smile in return, just takes her glass and drinks again. She tries to do it from time to time, lie to him in small meaningless things, to reassure herself, to maintain a certain feeling of authority; he lets her get away with it sometimes but not tonight.

He doesn't say anything else; he is not there for that, he is there just to show her that somebody cares, that somebody will be there for her if she needs not to be alone.

Several minutes pass and she sighs and the muscles at her back relax a little.

"What"

She means to sound pissed but she doesn't, not really, at least not to him.

"I didn't say anything."

"I know," she finally gives up and turns her stool enough to partially face him "Let me guess, Van Pelt and Rigsby are flirting less subtly than usual and Cho isn't drunk enough yet to overcome his fear of arriving home half drunk."

He smiles somewhat proudly. She is not the boss for anything.

The waiter delivers his soda and he acknowledges it with a casual gesture as he starts to answer Lisbon, "Van Pelt and Rigsby are flirting shamelessly and Cho will remember that home is far a better place to be than this dive any second now, probably after spotting that woman over there with the red dress."

Cho always smiles when sees a red dress of a similar fashion and most of the time makes a comment about his girlfriend within two minutes.

Teresa gets a little curious but not enough to ask about it.

"I still am not in a talking mood."

"Which is why I wasn't talking."

They get back to not talking, although he is close enough to be reassuring but not to the point of invading her personal space. He knows her, knows that eventually that will work. His movements are slow and calm, like you would act in the presence of a wild animal -not that he'd ever make that comparison out loud- but he stares at her with a little smile and an intense look in his eyes so not to let her back away.

He knows how to push her, he knows she won't back down from a dare, even an unspoken one, and so he waits for her to take the first step.

She relaxes a little bit more, calming down at her own pace, in her own space. He knows she needs him for this. She is a girl in a men's world, she can't afford being regarded as an emotional woman by her co-workers, her bosses or even her team… which sums up pretty much all the people close to her.

That leaves him.

He is not technically under her command and she is far from being under his; even though he spends most of his time in the office and is privy to most of the going-ons of the team, he still is an outsider. It makes him the closest thing to a best friend she can afford and offering that comfort is one of the things he still can do.

"Aren't you going to say it?"

"What?" He asks to make her go on.

"That it wasn't my fault, that I did everything that I could and that I have no reasons to feel guilty." She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, "The standard bullshit."

"You already know the standard bullshit," his voice is low and reassuring and he gets slightly closer without her really noticing it, "You don't need me to say anything like that."

She smiles a sad sardonic smile without looking up, "Oh yeah? And what do I need?"

Jane smiles brightly cause he was just waiting for this exact opening so he softens his stance and leaves his drink behind to picks her hands, slow, determined.

"Come here," he whispers for her to lean on him and embraces her.

She's not comfortable at first, he knows.

He also knows what she is thinking, that she knows that all his smiles and easy manners are not all there is to him. She probably thinks that all that is just a way to hide himself, a way to play other people and get to them easily. Well, she is not entirely wrong but that's not the point.

The point is that his purpose in life is to catch Red John. He has a mattress to sleep on, clothes to work with and the Red Jones's signature with his wife's blood on the wall to pay for his arrogance and not forget.

He doesn't need anything else anymore.

He was left just with blood and darkness, red and black. But while he waits to Red John to cross paths with him again, until the chance to catch him and make him pay arrives, he is going to be there to help catch as many bad guys as possible and he is going to be there for the team. Till that very moment, he plans to be there for her too, each and every step of the way.

Teresa hugs him back and starts crying silent sobs against his chest as they hug and Patrick can smell the faintest trace of her shampoo and feel the warm heat of her body, trying not to acknowledge how much he misses this kind of contact sometimes.

Somehow the darkness inside him subsides a little and he sighs.

They stay that way for several minutes, not caring about the sidelong glances of unwanted attention. They keep hugging till her breathing is even again and she pulls back averting her eyes and wiping away a lonely tear, like this kind of indulgence is something to be terribly ashamed of.

"I'm ok now."

She is not but he lets her go with it -just as he lets her get away the meaningless lies- staying no more than a foot from her.

He goes back to his soda, sipping quietly, counting Teresa's slow sighs and keeping an eye on Rigsby and Van Pelt by looking now and then at their reflections in the mirror behind the bar.

A loud party group shamelessly drunk finds it's way out and the pub is suddenly much calmer. Couples and small groups setting down as if the place had been magically transformed from party room to meeting holder.

Teresa finishes her drink and tips the glass with her finger to the bartender and the guy sitting at the end of the bar hisses probably at the lost opportunity to invite her. Almost out of his vision Grace's and Wayne's reflections start kissing and Patrick can't help to chuckle softly.

"What?" She asks

He doesn't really try to hide his smile, "Nothing that you want to know."

Lisbon turns her head to lock eyes with him, questioning him silently for several seconds before she gives up and turns her gaze casually to the mirror in front of her.

Her breath catches a little and then rolls her eyes "Oh perfect. That's just perfect. I swear to God that if I catch them holding hands at the office I will shoot them both."

They both know she wouldn't but Patrick just smiles, more at ease that he's been all night and they both fall into a comfortable silence again.

She intrigues him sometimes, with her crumpled shirt and severe suit pants that have the slightest hint of masculine attire, trying to cover her small proportions and the fragility of her frame under clothes and a stern look. She is honest and trustworthy but blushes without reason at the smallest things. She intrigues him sometimes.

He leans his right elbow on the bar holding his head with his right hand, and stares at Lisbon's profile nursing his drink without caring too much about it. He doesn't even turn to check on Rigsby and Van Pelt leaving.

Then she looks up and it's to look sternly at him.

"Stop doing that."

He smiles mostly to himself but doesn't avert his eyes from her. She has this mysterious gleam in her eyes, underneath all these other emotions, the one he sees once in a while and hasn't learned exactly what it means yet. It's… intriguing, so instead of backing down, he gets a little bit closer just to see what happens next.

"You have alluring eyes." She doesn't move, but she blushes furiously and that amuses Jane to no end, "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

There's no hesitation, "Yes, you do."

"Uhm," he tips his head and nears his almost empty glass to take another sip.

"I don't like unwarranted compliments."

"I wasn't complimenting you," she arches an eyebrow and looks at him, "I was stating a fact."

And then, if it's possible she blushes even more and breaks eye contact to grab a straw for the new drink.

He doesn't have to search too hard to spot at least three different men that would probably be hitting on her right know if it weren't for his presence and still she looks at her hands playing with a little cocktail napkin as if she were able to pass unnoticed if she kept her head down long enough.

"I don't need you to cheer me up," her voice is thick.

"I wasn't cheering you up. I was merely commenting the result of an observation."

She shifts in her seat, as if she is suddenly too aware of his closeness and it makes her uneasy and not for the first time since he knows Teresa Lisbon he ask himself if there's something else going on, if maybe he likes her a little too much or if she is way too indulgent with him. Truth is, he doesn't really know; he is not such a good observer when it comes to himself, that's why Jennifer Sands could play her innocent widower trick on him for so long.

"Can I ask you a question?" she actually turns all the way, pivoting on her stool to look at him straight in the eye.

"Sure."

"You know that if the time comes, I would shoot you to prevent you from killing Red John. I won't like it, but I would." He stares back at her, not that surprised from the sudden change of topic, and waits for the real question, "If that time comes, would you shoot me back?"

He thinks of it for a second, with Lisbon big clear eyes to look at and the smiley face painted with blood at his house.

"Maybe." he says truthfully. "If I were sure I wouldn't kill you and there was no other way to stop you. Maybe."

She nods sadly and starts to get up from her seat reaching for her wallet to pay for the drinks.

There's a rush inside of him to stop her, an urge that tells him that very bad things will happen if he doesn't do anything, so he gets up too and catches her hands between his forcing her to turn and look at him.

"I will never hurt you if I have a choice. Never." He pauses and swallows to maintain his cool soft tone of voice, "Besides, we both know I'm a terrible shot"

She smiles almost laughing and he smiles with her. Around them people drink and dance, flirt and talk but they don't' move, still holding hands.

"Patrick Jane, sometimes you're a very charming jerk," says Lisbon with a playful voice, "and that wasn't an unwarranted compliment, I was just stating a fact."

The sky is full of stars when they both go out of the pub, walking in a comfortable silence on their way back to the parking lot.

This is his life till Red John comes along again. This is his life, nice and somehow easy. He puts both his hands in his pockets and looks at Teresa at his side; even in the bad days is not half bad to be where he is.

Maybe he doesn't deserve it but this is his life, and it's a good one.


End file.
